Rosebud
by DemonFox38
Summary: His enemies had captured them because he had such great ideas and needed a little persuasion. Something to compliment their own work. Probably one of the few stories you'll ever read where a sword van and a Tentaspy are used in any serious context.
1. Chapter 1

**Rosebud**

* * *

><p>What a precious little trap had been set for him. He should have known better—should have asked more questions, searched for more clues, been less willing to jump into that camper and chase after the other team. His judgment had been clouded. He'd never had to question the Sniper before. The man was so genuine with him, blunt but honest. His work was steeped in levels of fleeting deception and crazy survivalist tactics, but it was something the Engineer had come to admire about him. Maybe that's why when he'd asked the Texan for help, he'd been so quick to jump. So eager. So stupid.<p>

It was clear that somebody had been in their garage. The Engineer's blueprints were gone. The latest mark of his classic sentry gun was nowhere to be found. The bastards even had the gall to take his toolbox. And there was the Sniper, pounding on his door at two in the morning, flustered and beaten, shirt torn and hair mussed. He told a tale so desperate and frightening that it hit the Engineer straight in his heart. He should have gotten an award for that performance. So, they'd gone to the Sniper's camper. He drove them out into the desert, following a wild, careening set of tire tracks that took them straight into the barracks of the opposing team, into a garage that almost mirrored his own.

That was when the Sniper had pulled an ornate rosewood revolver out of his pocket and placed it against his temple.

"I do not think that I have to tell you not to struggle." The Australian accent was gone, replaced by a menacing French lilt. The Engineer should have been inflamed with anger. All he felt was an empty, sheepish defeat. Here he was, miles and miles away from the safety of his teammates and his respawn generator. Trapped in a van. A gun to his head. He might as well have tied a ribbon around his neck.

He still had his mouth, though. "Typically, a gentleman buys me dinner before taken' me out here to neck." That earned him a crack to the head. Still worth it.

There was a brief sputter of applause outside of the van. The enemy's Heavy, Soldier, and Medic were waiting for him. Not their Engineer. Strange. The Heavy was the first to approach the camper. He wrenched the door open, taking the Engineer by the scruff of his collar. He thought about fighting the Russian for a brief moment, but his curiosity overtook him. Surveying the garage, he saw several similar vehicles to what his team had—a Jeep, a truck, another camper van. Not quite the same models, but the same manufacturer.

It seemed like a dumb question, but frankly, stupidity felt like his dominant trait tonight. "How'd ya get the keys to the Sniper's van?"

"Quiet, maggot!" The Soldier was the next to approach him. He patted the Texan down, throwing his weapons and PDA aside like they were scrap. He turned his attention next to the Engineer's robotic arm. With a quick twist, he yanked that free from its mount. He studied it with a bemused grin, then placed that gently to the side. "Our egghead's gonna want a look at that."

The Engineer sneered. "If he can't figure it out from those blueprints ya stole, he ain't going to figure anythin' out from just looken' at it."

"Indeed not. Which is why we need you." The Spy tapped him on the face, irritating his stubble.

The Medic stepped forward. He gestured a hand towards the interior door. "Kamerad, if you vould."

The Heavy hauled the Engineer into the base. He took his time in the forced march, trying his best to map the layout of the opposing team's barracks. It was almost an exact image of his base. There were even the same mismatched socks lining the hallway outside of the Scout's dormitory. It wasn't until the group stepped into a basement floor that things began to change. It was dark, clearly unfinished. Some of the pipes were leaking. There was a sign on one of the walls for a women's restroom, but that led into an unfinished mess of plumping and half-broken sinks. It reeked of decay and mold down here, and a chemical he couldn't quite place.

The Soldier opened a door at the end of the winding hallway. The chemical smell wafted into his nose. The Engineer was overcome by nostalgia. A smell of summertime. Dozens of children laughing. Women trying in vain to get tans while their boyfriends harassed them. Splashing. The smell of a pool. Chlorine. As the Heavy forced him into the opened doorway, he found those memories draining away. There was a pool down here, twenty feet deep and surrounded by white plastic chairs. Its water was a shade of aquamarine, dimly lit and tiled with white and black squares.

There were two people waiting for him. One was the opposite team's Engineer, sitting at a plastic table, the stolen blueprints laid across its surface. The other was his Sniper. There was a dull thud in the Texan's heart. He was okay. Humiliated, yes. Tied to a chair by an electrical cord, yes. Still, he was all right. It looked like their enemies had snuck up on him while he was asleep. Apparently, the only thing he wore to bed was half a karate gi. Where had he even gotten something like that? It stuck the Engineer as just another amusing quirk.

Apologies spilled from the Sniper. "I'm sorry, mate. Musta been sleeping too hard."

"It's okay." It had been a rough day, even before this. They had spent the entire day locked in a brutal slaughter with the opposing team, trying as best as possible to keep their intelligence safe. Their enemies hadn't taken one sheet of information. They'd trashed the Texan's machines on several occasions, and they'd pierced the Sniper's body more times than he could count with his digits, but they hadn't gotten anything for their efforts. It was probably why they'd resulted to this underhanded attack.

The opposing Engineer smirked at him. "Well, don't be a stranger. Have a seat." He pulled up a plastic chair for the Texan. The Heavy dropped him, shoving him towards his doppelganger. He growled at the force, but found that he had no choice but to accept the seat. He stole another glance at the Sniper. His hands were working fruitlessly at the knots binding him. The hair on his arms was standing on end. The Engineer found himself smiling. Of course he was cold.

"Time for our little chat zen, yes?" The Medic shooed the Heavy and the Soldier towards the door. "Zis von't take long. Vait outside, if you vould."

The Texan glanced towards the Medic. "I think ye're underestimaten' how bull-headed I can be, Doc."

"Please, little man. Don't toy with us." His comments must have been a hilarious jest to the Spy. He passed by the table, pacing behind the Sniper. He dug the tip of his left foot into his right heel, sliding one of his shoes away. He did the same with the other foot. His pinstripe jacket was the next article to be shed. He placed that on the back of the Sniper's chair. The motions fascinated the Texan. What was he doing?

The Medic took a third seat at the table. He folded his hands, smiling with unnerving serenity. "Vell now. Let us share a little information. I tell you a story, and you vill tell us about zis project you have here."

"Doc, I ain't in the mood for this." The Texan didn't feel the need to be too polite.

That cherubic grin remained, drilling past the Engineer's apprehensions. "Vonce upon a time, I created a monster. I did not mean to, you see. Sometimes, ven you experiment, zes sings just sort of happen."

The Texan growled. "Doc, is this the best time to—"

The Medic raised a finger to his lips. He considered biting the tip off for a moment. The German prattled on. "You know our mutual Frenchmen and zer skills, don't you? I'm sure you had to help him build his gadgets, much as our toymaker did. And one of zes fun little gadgets is ze Spytron 3000, is it not?"

There was a groan from behind him. The Texan felt hairs prick up on the back of his neck. He turned to see what was going on, but the enemy Engineer grabbed him by the chin and forced his view forward again. Even so, he caught the faintest glimpse out of the corner of his eye. The electric cord had gone slack around the Sniper, but he wasn't running. That Spy had been hovering inches above his neck, teeth protruding slightly like vampiric fangs. Sharp nails dug into his friend's shoulder, drawing little rivulets of blood. It had to be his imagination.

The Engineer finally answered the Medic's question. "Yes, I did. I had to get a rough statistical profile from our Medic to do it, though. Can't just put it height, weight, hair, and eye color and hope for things to turn out for the best."

"Yes. So diligent, zat man." The Medic leaned forward, broad chin resting on gloved hands. "Vell, I made a mistake."

Something scraped across the floor. The Engineer steeled himself, trying not to look backwards. He could hear the Sniper draw a quick breath. A wet thump splattered against the floor. The Spy groaned, then another thump followed. Then another. And another. And another. Ice shot up the Engineer's spine. Another one. God, what was that?

"I forgot to put in a few bones here and zer. Put in one too many limbs. A little too much of zis, a little too much of zat." The Medic leaned over slightly, now addressing the Spy behind the trio. "It's not such an easy form to hold, is it, mein Freund?"

There was a slurping sound as something lowered itself into the pool. "I should say not." Plastic screeching followed the slurp, and then a solid splash echoed from behind the Engineer. There was a great amount of thrashing. The Sniper hissed and barked obscenities at the Spy. The Texan tried to look one more time, but the enemy Engineer stopped him again. Even so, he saw just the faintest of muddled reflections in the goggles of his doppelganger. His mind reeled. Was that—

"Ze sing is, our Frenchman didn't vant it to go to vaste. It is a bit of a tenth disguise, you can say. Viz all ze trappings and powers zat his other disguises hold." The Medic's smile widened, a dark fire billowing in his blue eyes. "If you do not tell us vat zis sing is here, zen he vill use zos powers against your Kamerad. If you do not tell us quickly, zen—"

"Sonnova—!"

The Engineer threw himself from his seat before his foe could block him again. His heartbeat burst in his eardrums. The plastic chair that once held the Sniper was cast aside on the edge of the pool, the electrical cord floating halfway into the water. The Australian was fighting to keep his head above water, kicking with broad, powerful strokes. Snaked around his torso and wrists were—good God, the Engineer didn't know at first. They looked like fat, rubbery serpents. He could see the skin below them, dotted with an even number of suckers. They were trailing from below the surface, but not so deep that he couldn't see where they collected into one mass. Deeper below was almost dark as the indigo night save for the grinning, vicious smirk of the Spy.

The Engineer's brain whirled. "Jesus fish cakes! What in Sam Hill—Mundy!"

This was not a fight the Sniper could win. His head disappeared beneath the water, fingertips brushing the pool's surface but not breaking the tension. The Texan felt sweat pooling at his feet. His knees felt like gelatin. Every nerve in his body fired, trying to throw him forward. The opposing Engineer stopped him, grabbing him by his overalls. He growled, teeth clenched like white vices. It took the Medic's harsh laughter to break his rage.

"I zink zat is enough for ze moment." The Medic threw a signal towards the pool. There was a rush of water, and then the Spy and the Sniper surfaced. The Australian coughed up a good bit of water. The sight of his disheveled, drenched friend trapped in the writhing grasp of that Frenchman—that monster—The Engineer felt his vision blur and his core quake.

"Ya've made yer point. Let's talk."

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>:

No. No. No. This is not what I sat down to write. I was going to start work on a story about the Medic. It was going to be hilarious and emotionally deep. We were going to have so much fun learning about human illnesses and medical insurance. And then what? What?

Hon. Hon. Hon. Son of a bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

"Now, zen. Let us establish some ground rules."

The Engineer scoffed. It was just like the Medic to play games in dire consequences. When positively manifested—when his team's Medic did it—it became a way to motivate the troops. This was certainly not his Medic. His Medic wouldn't have turned their mutual Spy into a…What was a word that could describe that monster binding the Sniper in the pool? Cephalopodan? Spyphalopodan? Tentasp—

"Do you got zat?"

Uh oh. The Engineer smirked. "Sorry, Doc. I was thinking about linguistics."

The Medic laughed at him. "Fine. Don't take me seriously. It's only ihr Freund's life at stake."

"No, no, Doctor. Let us play." The Spy wrenched the Sniper's arms upwards, tendrils twisting around skin so tightly that it went pale. A tentacle crept up the side of his face, taunting the Australian with its caress. "Why don't you two laborers get your little guitars, and we can have ourselves a marionette show!"

It probably shouldn't have surprised the Spy when the Sniper bit him. That sent the Medic and the enemy Engineer into a fit of laughter. The Texan felt like cracking a smile, but kept himself in check. It looked like it hurt to be squeezed like that. He wondered what they would have done to the Sniper if he hadn't bought their little ruse. Would they have moved onto luring the next teammate? Would they have just killed him? That Spy sure enjoyed yanking him around. Maybe he would have kept him alive just to torture him like this whenever the Frenchman was bored.

"Do that again, and I will make ya wankers wish that yer mums hadn't never spewed ya—" The Sniper started off on a nasty death threat but was silenced when the Spy dragged him back underwater. The Frenchmen held his head barely an inch below the surface, just deep enough to taunt him with the thought of fresh air. Several angry bubbles floated to the top of the pool, the Sniper's voice drowned out. The Engineer thought he'd heard the Sniper yell his name, but he couldn't understand a word.

"Okay. Okay. Let's not get too hasty." The Engineer tried to persuade his enemies without outright pleading. "What do ya wanna discuss first?"

The Medic sighed, then flicked his wrist upwards. The Spy rolled his eyes. He let the Sniper surface again, the Australian taking in a deep gulp of air. After giving him a few seconds, the Spy wrapped the bitten tentacle around the Sniper's mouth, leaving just enough clearance for his nostrils. The Sniper sneezed on him. That was about as defiant as he could get, for the time being.

His doppelganger grinned. "Why, Mister Conagher. I thought ya'd never ask." He pointed to the upper left-hand corner of the schematics on the plastic table. "This here. It looks like another sentry gun."

"Yessir. I was thinking about maken' a miniaturized version of the sentry. Just something ta be a bit of an ankle biter around points, ya know." The Engineer made short gestures with his hands, trying to give some sense of measurement to the design. "'Bout yea tall. Maybe twenty-five, thirty pounds at the most. Nothing too heavy."

"Can't see much of a use for that." Apparently, he and his enemy clone didn't see eye to eye on much.

The Engineer smirked. "Now, now. Just think about it. It's tiny. Doesn't cost much ta build. Just enough for ya ta get yer butt snug into a corner, and then do a little defense while ya get yer dispenser up and going. No need to run off ta some far flung corner of the world ta get more metal. Then when yer team is good to go, ya pick it up and redeploy it in a fourth of the time."

The opposing Engineer nodded. "Gotcha. Not sure I'll have much of a use for somethin' like that, but it's an interestin' thought." He moved onto the next sketch. "What about this?"

"I—um, well. About that." The Engineer blushed. "That's nothing, really."

Now the Medic was interested. He leaned into their conversation, observing the doodle with a lifted eyebrow. Compared to the elegant, sharp designs of the sentries, it looked cartoonish. It was clearly an image of the Demoman wielding a sword of some kind. It looked like the blade was made out of electricity. The German laughed at the ridiculousness of the image.

"Vat is dat? Some kind of Blitzklinge?" He wiped a tear out of his eye. His laughter was harsh and piercing.

The Engineer's redness deepened. "I was just watching one of them space shows that the Scout and the Soldier like so much, and I thought that it would be cool ta have a sword made outta the same kinda stuff they use for laser guns."

The Medic slammed his fist on the table, laughing and crying from the entire suggestion. "And ze best part zat wis the Demoman, you don't have to worry about him putting an eye out!" Now the other Engineer was breaking down with laughter. Conagher planted his face in his hands. This wasn't torturous, but it was thoroughly degrading.

The Spy was the only one of his enemies not amused by this. He barked at the table, "Are you hens going to get any information, or are you going to continue clucking about?"

"Oh, I suppose he's right." The Medic cleaned one last tear away, then readjusted his glasses. " Vat about zis Rosebud, then?"

Rosebud? The Engineer sat up, searching over his plans. He didn't think he'd recorded anything about Rosebud. His handwriting betrayed him. In the lower right-hand corner of the schematics, he'd written a small note next to a sketch of his dispenser. It was just an afterthought. A fantasy. He thought if he could connect his dispensers to it, then he could—

The Medic noticed his hesitation. "Engineer. Vat is Rosebud?"

Lie. Lie quickly. The Engineer turned to his doppelganger. "Yer German companion isn't up ta snuff on his American cinema, is he?"

He got a chuckle out of his enemy. "The only film that Kraut has seen is Snow White. He blubbered like a baby at the end."

That set the Medic on fire. He pounded on the plastic table. "Zat is not important!"

"But ya get what I'm sayin', don't ya?" Conagher leaned towards the enemy. "It's Rosebud. Ya know. Like in Citizen Kane."

The enemy stroked his stubble. "Are we talking in a physical sense, or in an inconsequential MacGuffin sense? I could use a rocket-powered sled in Viaduct."

"The latter. A red herring. Just a bit of nothing." He smiled, hiding his fear behind a warm shade. "Just in case some sticky-fingered spy got a hold of it. Something ta make him crazy."

His doppelganger sat back into his chair, pondering the information. The German narrowed his eyes. The Engineer tried to relax as naturally as possible, avoiding the eagle-eyed scrutiny. Just bluff. It's just another poker game. His state invented a whole new set of rules for poker. He could sit here and just let the lie stew. Act like nothing was on the table.

"Please. You two are so daft." The Spy cut into the conversation. "This idiot scribbles any little thought that comes into his head."

The opposing Engineer scrunched up his brow. "So?"

The Spy waved a tentacle like a fleshy, chubby finger. "Why does the fool become silent if it is nothing? He's talked about so much nothing now. If it's not important, then clearly, he could be sharing somezing wiz us."

The logic clicked in the Medic's brain. His lips curled. "Well, zen. Let's experiment, shall we?" He cocked his head to the side, his grin locked in place. "Herr Sniper, how long can you hold your breath?"

A surge of water splashed out of the pool as the Spy drug the Sniper into the depths of the pool. Conagher jumped out of his chair. He didn't run, knowing that his enemy would only snatch him again. The duo sunk to the bottom, the Spy splayed out like a dark tumor. He stuck as many of his tentacles to the walls and floor as he could, saving a couple to wrap around the Sniper's waist and neck. His friend didn't struggle for long, gritting his teeth as he tried to save what precious little oxygen he had in his lungs. The Spy shot a teasing glance up at the startled Engineer, one mixed with malice and smug confidence.

"Start talking, Truckie." His rival mocked the situation. "Or we could wait around and find out what pretty shades of blue yer friend will turn."

Conagher returned to his seat, resisting every urge to sock the two interrogating him. Even if he did that, the two flunkies just outside the doors would come in and crush him into a pulp. That wouldn't leave Mundy in any better position. He took a deep breath—a luxury his friend was denied—and spilled his guts.

"It's a computer network."

The other Engineer raised his head. "What for? The dispenser doesn't need ta talk ta anything. It's kind of a dumb beast."

"Not just for the dispenser. For the respawn generator, too. And the rest of the terminals at our base." The Texan continued, his mouth going cotton-dry. "All these machines would work together, like if they were the same machine. Like how a bunch of cogs make a clock."

"Gotcha." His doppelganger leaned back, considering this suggestion.

The Medic narrowed his eyes. "Really? Zat is all?" He crossed his arms and shook his head. "From ze way you were acting, I thought zat it was ze second atomic bomb. I hardly see how computers are going to harm us."

Conagher raised his left hand and his stump. "Think about it. Ya could have every medical document anytime, anywhere. Ya wouldn't have ta be just in yer lab. Ya could have every file on yer patients available at any time. Ya could track anything about them."

"I have a gun that shoots medicine. Zat is all I need when we are busy gutting you pigs." The concept was still lost on the German.

The Texan felt bile rising in the back of his throat. He couldn't hear water bubbling behind him. God, he couldn't convince them. He put a case out to the Engineer. "Ya've got every piece of information right there. The layout of our battlegrounds. The statistical strengths and weaknesses of yer teammates. The combined knowledge of everyone and everything ya have. Think how fast ya could plot tactics. Ya could calculate the best spot for each of yer men right in the thick of it. It wouldn't take hours. Not even minutes. Seconds."

His doppelganger folded his hands together. "How would all of these communicate? Radio waves?"

"Something like that. Ya'd need to standardize the way they communicate, like how ya send letters. I don't know. Like packets." Conagher's gut was sinking. The pool was too quiet. He couldn't stand it. "Please. Tell me ya can see what I'm sayin'."

The other Engineer wasn't letting him have it easy. There was a slow smile followed by a bright grin. He was holding the situation up, letting the Texan sweat it out for just a little longer. Finally, he nodded. "I like it. That's shiny. Real brilliant."

"It hardly qualifies as a weapon." The Medic was still nonplussed about it.

"Doctor, of all people, ya should know that the right knowledge in the wrong man's hands is enough ta damage the whole damn world." His doppelganger called towards the pool. "That'll do."

The pool's surface broke with a dramatic burst. He'd expected a great deal of splashing and coughing, but it was quiet. The Sniper was almost motionless. The Spy's tentacles were the only things keeping him above water. His head was slumped against his chest. Conagher thought he was dead at first. The only sign of life he observed was a low, nauseating cough, water dribbling out his friend's mouth. That blazing piss and vinegar spirit was reduced to embers.

The Frenchman had observed the Engineer's quieted demeanor with amusement. He wagged the Sniper's body at him, arms and legs like thick noodles. "Aw, pardner. I'm afraid your little friend is bush-whacked." He laughed at his little pun, snorting after every couple of chuckles.

The Texan was not amused. "Stuff it, crab cakes."

His doppelganger was quick to rebuke him. "Now, now. Ain't no need for that kind of language, young man." He leaned his head back, now addressing the Spy. "Why don't we take a break, Frenchie? I gotta do some processin'."

"Fine." He narrowed his eyes at Conagher. "Catch."

The Spy flung the Sniper's body across the pool. The Texan ditched his seat, diving into the pool without a second thought. Luckily, the Sniper hadn't sunk too deep before he was able to reach him. Swimming with a stump and propping up the barely conscious Australian was troublesome. He reached the pool's edge within a few kicks, pushing the Sniper onto the tiled floor. There was a new series of coughing, now more vigorous and forceful. He found himself staring into tired eyes, glassy and blue.

The Engineer hauled himself out of the pool, his good hand digging into a vent just outside the edge. He sat with his back to his adversaries at the table. The Sniper hacked up more water. Conagher found himself patting the Australian on the back, trying to whack more liquid out of his lungs. It had been an unconscious gesture. The Sniper turned his head to him, flashing just the briefest of cheeky smiles before going into another fit. The Texan felt sharp pain cut into his chest. He wasn't the one who did this to Mundy, but dammit, he was guilty just the same.

His counterpart interrupted his thoughts. "I hate ta break up this precious little moment here, but I'm afraid that I've gotta point out an infraction on your part, my buddy."

The Engineer glanced up at his opposite. "Pardon?"

"Oh. Oh, yes. Zank you for zat observation." The Medic was at his back within moments. He grinned, his teeth biting slightly into his lip. "You lied."

Conagher sat up. "What of it?"

The Medic knelt down, setting one hand on the Engineer's shoulder and one on the Sniper's ribcage. "Mein freund, zat was one of my rules zat you broke. Ze ones you so rudely ignored. And, you know, I don't like people breaking my rules."

"I don't take kindly to people tryin' to intimidate me." He shoved the Medic aside. "If ya wanna talk, we do it like gentlemen, ya spineless bunch of yella-bellied thieves. No more of this hostage crap."

Somehow, that tickled the Medic's funny bone. He raised his left hand over his mouth, trying to hide his chuckling. "Strange you should use ze term 'spineless.' You know what has no spine?"

That was when the Frenchman decided it was the Engineer's turn for a bath.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>:

Do you ever do subconscious writing? By that, I mean do you just ever write random crap that seems to make sense? It seems like I'm doing that a lot lately. I think from the past three stories I've done, I've decided that the Medic has a huge love for the movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, the Heavy has type O blood, the Sniper likes peaches, and the Soldier and the Scout like watching Star Trek together. (Although, I did hit up the Team Fortress 2 wiki and found out on the Meet the Sniper page that the Sniper does have a peach-scented air freshener in his van. Maybe that was subconscious memory.) It's really kind of a fascinating thing.

Also, apparently the Engineer invented intranets and lightsabers. Go figure. If they do ever release a weapon for the Demoman called the Blitzklinge, I may have to hide myself in shame. It means somebody somewhere knew what I was doing…oh, God! I can't hide on this Internet thing!

Oh, well. At least I'm not writing porn.

Anyway. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you need consoling.


	3. Chapter 3

The Engineer hit the pool's surface so hard that it felt like sinking into half-baked concrete. The water was sharp and cold, much cooler than the brisk temperature the room had been. Chlorine burned in his sinuses. Fastened around his middle was a strong, bulky tentacle. It tightened its grip on him as he descended, trying to squeeze the last of his oxygen out. A second one went for his legs, a third for his arms. He wriggled just enough to avoid the one aiming for his upper body, but there was fresh pain in his calves. Good God, the strength that Spy had. It was surprising that he didn't decide to pull him into separate little meaty pieces. No. The Frenchman wanted the pain to last. Wanted him to suffer.

The Spy lassoed the Texan's left arm. The Engineer tugged back, trying to force it loose. He grabbed onto the fleshy tendril, his fingers clenching in a vice-tight grip. Suckers under his palms smacked and burst, the pressure enough to cause rupturing. The Engineer sneered at his opponent. That French coward winced. The expression sent waves of adrenaline through the Engineer's arm. He clenched harder, red blood oozing out from broken skin.

A tentacle smacked into the side of his face, suckers sticking to the front of his goggles. Chlorinated water seeped in. The Texan closed his eyes, shaking his head as hard as possible. His eyes burned. Dirty rotten bastard knew how to force an advantage. He felt another tentacle snake around his neck. The Frenchman gave a sharp throttle, trying to shake the last of the Engineer's breath from his throat. There was a brief explosion of panic in the deepest part of Conagher's brain.

And then clarity.

Of course. That monster would never expect it. He was used to playing with unarmed victims. Had the Sniper had a weapon, he would have made short work of the Frenchman, even in the same chokehold as the Engineer. The opposing team had been so careful to bind and disarm him that he'd never had a chance. But here, nobody would have expected this. The Engineer who had been so crass as to chop off his own hand to replace it with a robotic limb should have been safely unarmed with the offending prosthesis gone. How much more unarmed could a man get than having just a stump?

Therein lay a secret danger. To get his robotic arm to rotate properly, the Engineer had rigged a spinning gear in the base of his arm. It was typically powered only by nerve signals. In order to blow dust out of it, the Engineer had installed a ripcord that would whirl with such speed as to blast out offending debris. Between that and the short prongs he had jutting out of it, he had a drill that could last for about five seconds.

That could work.

The Engineer wrenched his head over, his teeth finding the ripcord. With a sharp yank backwards, he pulled the cord to its full length. The mechanism whirled to life, jetting fierce bubbles. He pulled his left arm back and pushed forward with his body. The drill met with a silk shirt. Then skin. Then bone. Blood billowed out of the Spy's chest, floating to the surface of the pool in garnet tones. His face went slack as the stumped arm exited his back. Then he too floated to the surface, his hood and tentacles splayed open like a lotus.

Conagher surfaced, savoring the air he'd long been denied. He would have taken more time to enjoy it if he hadn't looked to the left. He found himself staring at the Medic's head. It had been bashed into the tile floor, blood washing down the drains lining the pool. His doppelganger was slightly more lively, but quickly passing out. The Sniper had wrapped the same electrical cord they had used to bind him around the other Engineer's neck. The hilarious thing about all this carnage was that the Sniper wasn't even standing upright. He had just enough strength to keep on his knees, the rest of it focusing into throttling his rival. Apparently, being drowned several times only served to piss him off.

The Sniper looked away from his victim for a moment, gaping at the gory aftermath in the pool. "Dell!" He dropped his victim, falling onto his stomach. The Australian reached out arms. The Engineer swam over to him, somewhat surprised when the Sniper hauled him out of the pool. He lay on the floor for a moment, breathless and panting.

"Come on." The Engineer pulled his friend upright, looking around in panic. Nobody came into the pool room. This surprised him. Didn't the Heavy or the Soldier guarding the door hear the struggle? Surely cracking the Medic's skull would have made some noise. Okay. So, maybe they had a minute before the enemy Engineer, the Spy, or the Medic would make their way back down here and order a full out slaughter against the duo. There was no time to waste.

The Engineer found the Spy's discarded jacket. He dug the Sniper's keys out of the left pocket, placing them in his overalls. He raided his doppleganger's body, finding a wrench with a jagged extension protruding over the knuckles. He also had a small pistol. Better than nothing. The Sniper unwrapped the extension cord around the rival Texan's neck, slinging it over his shoulder. Strange choice, but all right. Apparently, he'd made do with just that before.

Then the Sniper started stripping the rival's corpse.

"What're ya—" The Engineer started, but the Sniper flung the enemy Engineer's shirt at him before he could get much further.

The Sniper was terse with his plan. "Put it on, then tie me up. Say I killed the Medic and the Spy, but not before the Spy killed you. Say that you're gonna …I don't know. How would ya say that you were going to go kick the crap out of me, mate?"

"Ya want me to lie? Haven't been doin' a good job of that tonight." Besides, the Engineer was never a great actor. Even if he was just playing himself, he always felt like he was going to blow it.

The Australian gave him a warm grin. "Just be yourself. Only more cartoonish." He helped pull the shirt down over the Engineer's head, refastening the clasps on his overalls. Turning around, he redressed the other Engineer in Conagher's old shirt. When that was done, he handed the electrical cord over. "Don't be afraid to be rough."

Like this wasn't awkward enough. Conagher sighed, winding the cord around the Sniper's chest and arms a few times. He didn't create a knot, settling instead for tucking the end around the loops in the back and leaving the trailing ends in his left hand. Yikes. He needed a right hand. He went over to the Engineer's body and pulled off his glove. It was strange to see a hand so like his own, and yet so foreign from the way he was now. He hid that hand under his rival's body, hoping to force the illusion for just a moment longer. He pulled the glove onto his stump as tight as possible, then tucked the loose hand parts into his pocket. That would have to do.

The duo walked to the door. The Engineer sighed, and then assumed his doppleganger's demeanor. He slammed the Sniper through the door, pinning him to the wall across the way from the pool room. The Heavy and the Soldier had been snoozing against the wall, but were now very much awake and shocked. Great. They could have just snuck out. The Engineer gave the Sniper an extra throttle, growling in his ear. He tried not to panic, knowing that the both of them could have holes blasted through them. The regenerator—and the barracks, for that matter—seemed so far away.

"Ya dirty rotten varmint! I outta flog ya until ya bleed tea!" The Engineer started the exchange, pushing his friend further into the wall.

The Sniper was a quick improviser. "Piss off, ya bald wanker!"

They could hear the sounds of guns lowering behind them. The enemy Heavy was the first to speak. "Vat happened?"

The Engineer pulled the Sniper around, throwing him onto his knees. "This piss poor excuse for a hunter just got his friend slaughtered. That's all the good he did!"

Now the Soldier was confused. "What?"

"If ya would learn to tie knots and not frilly bows, I wouldn't have escaped!" The Sniper spat at the Engineer, missing his face by centimeters. Geez, he was good at this.

The Engineer turned him around once more, pinning him to the ground with his boot. He pushed forward into the Australian's bare stomach. The Sniper squirmed in response, although the Engineer wasn't sure about whether or not he was feigning pain. He forced his concern aside, squinting his eyes further. "All ya've cost us is a little bit of electricity. Some good yer killen' did. That's going to be mighty fine compensation to yer dead amigo, isn't it?"

The Heavy sighed. "You got bad Engineer killed. Great. There goes plan."

The Soldier raised his shotgun again, aiming it at the Sniper's head. "Should I put the mutt out of his misery?"

It was hard not to flinch. The Engineer batted it away. He turned back to the Sniper, imagining the sadistic Medic's smile and channeling it. "This one's mine, boys. Before I get to it, though, I'm gonna show our little guest some good ol' fashioned Southern hospitality." He yanked the Sniper back onto his feet, whirling him back into the wall. He must have done it a little too hard. The Sniper coughed in response, knees buckling. He must have knocked the wind out of him.

Apparently, that phrase meant something much different to the enemy Soldier and Heavy. They both lifted an eyebrow, smirking deviously. The Heavy roared with laughter. "Supplies are in tiny lady's room. Have good time!"

The Engineer pushed the Sniper in front of him, marching him down the hallway towards the women's restroom. Thank God it was around a corner and out of sight. He was surprised that neither the Heavy nor the Soldier had followed him. As soon as he thought it was safe, he unraveled the electrical cord. He signaled the Sniper to follow him.

When they were out of earshot, the Sniper started talking. "Good job, mate."

"Thank ya. Ya doin' okay?" The Engineer still felt embarrassed with how he'd handled his friend.

"Well, I said you could be rough." The Sniper rubbed the spot where Conagher had dug his boot into his stomach. "Gonna be a little sore in the morning."

Between his treatment and the Spy's absolute viciousness, the Engineer wondered if the Sniper would turn into a new shade of purple once his bruises set in. He was probably going to have a few rough marks, too. It wouldn't be something they could hide long from their Medic. There would be a ton of questions. He didn't know if telling the truth would make him sound drunk or insane. Maybe if he left out a detail here or there, it could make sense.

As they jogged—well, more like limped—past the enemy Scout's room, a low red light kicked on. There was a wail that began to crescendo. It sounded like an old air raid siren. Both of them cussed. Somebody must have reached the Alarm-O-Tron 5000. There was no time to waste. The Engineer pulled the Sniper down the hallway, retracing the path back to the garage. He kicked the door open.

Thankfully, nobody had reached the garage before them. The Engineer grabbed the Sniper's keys from his pocket, first unlocking the back of the van. "Git yerself armed." The Sniper clambered into his van, rooting through his kukris and rifles. In the meantime, the Engineer searched for his revoked items. He found his toolbox and his prosthesis, but his guns were nowhere to be found. So be it. The Texan clicked his arm in place, then picked up his toolbox. He went to toss his junk into the back of the van when the Australian bounded out, fully dressed and kukri in hand. Mundy went to the nearest enemy vehicle and began slashing tires.

The Engineer was pleased. "Good thinken', Stretch."

"Get the ol' gal started up. I'll be back in a sec." Conagher nodded, jumping into the driver's seat. He hadn't had the pleasure of driving this beauty before. He'd seen the van gutted and ripped apart. He'd had the opportunity to know her from the inside. Getting the chance to actually control her was a sign of the fantastic level of trust the Sniper had in him. She hummed to life, the engine making a few throaty rattles. Good ol' lady.

He would have taken more time to admire her had there not been a sudden blast and a yelp from behind the vehicle. It sounded like someone had shot a dog. The Engineer glanced out of the passenger's window. The Sniper had dropped his kukri and was running back to the van. He was clutching his left arm. Blood. He didn't have to look far to find who had fired on them. Squatting behind his own camper was the enemy Sniper, his eyes squinting and his hair half-mussed. Clearly, he was not amused with the piker that had just gouged a hole in his front tire.

His Sniper threw himself into the back of the van, locking the door behind him. A shot was quick on his heels. Had he not shut the door in time, his foe would have gotten him in the left kidney. "Drive!"

Conagher didn't need to be told twice. He floored it. A shot took out the passenger's rear-view mirror. The van tore through the front of the garage, slamming a hole through the large tin door. It skidded as the Engineer swerved out of the barracks, hitting the highway with squealing rubber and fire. His heart nearly burst from out of his ribs. They were out!

The Engineer looked backward. There was a sliding window between the front of the van and the living quarters in the back. It was otherwise separated by a steel wall. He slid the window back, trying to check on his companion. "Ya okay, Mundy?"

"Yeah, I think—whoa." The Sniper had been on his feet, but he dropped.

Fighting the urge to look back, the Engineer kept pushing forward. "What's wrong?"

There was a grunt of pain, and then the Sniper swore. "Bloody hell. That cheaten' bastard!"

"Need ya to be clearer, Mundy. What happened?" The Engineer accelerated, going dozens of miles faster than the speed limit. It wasn't like the cops were ever around this part of the state, anyway.

He could hear the Sniper moan, following a brief round of retching. "I've been tranqed."

The Engineer grumbled. As if the piss throwing wasn't bad enough. "I didn't think ya were allowed tranquilizer rounds."

"Not when we're fighting." The Sniper groaned again, his head spinning. It was just a low enough dosage that it hadn't completely knocked him out in one shot. It wasn't going to take long to put him under, though.

Conagher smiled, trying to reassure Mundy. "Take it easy. We're in the clear."

He immediately regretted saying that.

From his rear-view mirror, he caught a blast of bright yellow lights. His jaw dropped. A bulky vehicle was gaining speed on them. Apparently Mundy hadn't gotten every last tire. The body was rusted in parts, gunmetal gray paint flaking off. Two passengers sat in the front. It was the Heavy and the Soldier. They must have gotten wise pretty fast after the sirens went off. That wasn't the part that concerned him. Attached to the grill of the van was a rectangular plate filled with jutting spikes. The Engineer double took. He was wrong—that wasn't spikes. They were all leftover weapons from the Demoman and the Soldier's stashes.

"Jesus Christ," Conagher spat. "They built a sword van!"

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>:

I want to say that I read somewhere that the Sydney Sleeper was originally designed to have a tranquilizing effect, but I can't source that right now. So I pulled it out of my ass. Like most of this chapter!

Seriously. This chapter was a pain to write. I had a starting point and an ending point in mind, and I couldn't figure out how to connect them. Originally, I thought I'd introduce the Heavy and the Soldier into the fray, but I couldn't see how an unarmed Sniper and Engineer were going to fair against that. Using the Soldier's grenades, maybe? I don't know. Then I was like, "Hey, idiot. There's a spare Engineer on the floor." You'd think that somebody who planned to Chekov's Gun an electrical cord would remember that. So, that's how that came to be. I didn't even know who was going to kill what. Or what the enemy Sniper was going to fire on them with. Or anything anytime anywhere.

The important thing is that you now know how the Organ Grinder taunt works.

Anyway. Now is the time to voice your objections. Lamentations. Exclamations. Whatever comments you have.


	4. Chapter 4

This was not the time to panic. Sure, he had a Russo-American death machine nipping at his heels. His immediate line of defense was under heavy sedation and not long for the realm of the conscious. He was driving a camper that, to be honest, should have been decommissioned and sold for scrap. His tools were out of reach. All he had for personal protection was a pistol and a wrench that he stole off his doppelganger. His base and the machine that spared him from death were at least twenty-five miles away. In all likelihood, he wasn't making it back home anytime soon.

There were worse ways to die. That did little to comfort the Engineer.

Conagher slammed his foot on the accelerator. "Mundy! Got something back there?"

"Yeah," the reply was anemic. He could hear the Sniper lift a gun, sliding bullets into the chamber. "Hold her steady."

Easier said than done. The Engineer peered into the rear-view mirror. The plated grill was advancing on their tail, rows of swords pointing straight at their keister. He pushed the van onwards, but it was stalling around eighty miles an hour. Seconds before those blades could pierce the back door, the engine gave another kick and blasted ahead. Ninety. One hundred. That would give them a little room, but not much.

**CRACK!**

The Sniper had taken the first shot. The bullet pierced the rear windows, losing additional speed as it slammed into the sword van's windshield. It was a few inches too far to the left. The shot struck the enemy Heavy in the shoulder. A deep Russian bellow boomed from the vehicle. It stung, but it wasn't fatal. Not unless the Engineer and the Sniper were planning on waiting for the Heavy to bleed out. That could take a while.

The Sniper reloaded, the discarded round dropping to the floor. "I'll…try again." His voice was losing strength. The Engineer could feel when the Sniper laid back against the metal wall separating them from each other, his body making a soft thump. It might as well been a foot thick.

"Take it easy. Deep breath." The Engineer coasted towards the median, trying to help the Sniper get a better shot.

The Soldier was not pleased with the progress that their captives were making. He bent to the right, grabbing something out of the backseat. Pulling it forward, Dell and Mundy's jaws dropped. It was a large rocket launcher, the front adorned with a green, metallic bell. The grips and shoulder rest were made of wood, a wiry extension protruding behind that. The Soldier grinned, loading three rockets into the beast of a weapon. Apparently, having a van fronted with dozens of swords was not enough for the ax-crazy American.

"Anytime now, Stretch!" The Engineer felt the van stalling again. He took out his wrench, whacking it a few times out of habit.

A bright dot made its way over to the Soldier's helmet. "Just about—"

**CRACK!**

The Australian and the American fired simultaneously. Mundy's aim was true, the round bursting in the skull of the Soldier. So was the Soldier's. The rocket landed below the van, bucking the tail end in the air. It was all the Engineer could to keep the vehicle from fishtailing out of control. If it weren't for his robotic arm, he would have lost it. He leaned in and out of the swerve, finally stabilizing the van. He looked backwards again, marveling at the slumped figure and the bloom of red blood in the passenger's seat of the sword van.

"Good job, Mundy. One more!" Dell called back.

Silence answered him.

The Engineer glanced backwards. "Mundy!" There was nothing he could do. The Sniper was collapsed in a heap, his body thrown backwards by the blast. A splatter of blood seeped from the back of his head. A panicked cry tried to escape Dell's throat, but he forced it back halfway through. It took all of his willpower to make himself focus back on the situation at hand.

There was little he could do now. He could try to outrun the sword van, but that would take a great deal of time. There was no guarantee that he could make it back to the barracks in time. He had little to no offense at hand. The Heavy would be on them shortly. If those swords reached the back of the camper, it would squash the Sniper—then himself—in its power. Kebabed. Diced. Smooshed. Several things he didn't want to be.

He looked back one more time to see how far behind the Heavy was. The message in the rear-view mirror mocked him. Objects may be closer than they appear, indeed. He craned his head forward when his last line of defense caught his eye. How hadn't he seen it? Mounted on the wall behind him was another rifle, the Sniper's classic. Ridiculously overpowered sight and everything. The Engineer pulled it from the wall, finding the gun weighed down with ammunition. That was completely unprofessional of the Sniper to keep bullets in his guns at all times. Praise the Lord.

Okay. So he had to get into a position to use it. He could think of one way to do it. He slammed on the accelerator, pushing the old gal as fast as she would go. Bless her, she reached a hundred and forty miles an hour before balking again. The Heavy was quick to catch up to him, inches away from the van's rear. It took all of his mettle to keep from moving until the very last second.

The Engineer dropped into the next lane and hit the brakes. The sword van shot in front of him, grazing the left side of the camper as it went. It was several seconds until the Heavy realized that the Engineer had given him the slip. Good. He grabbed the wrench again, bashing out the front windshield. He watched the Heavy careen the van around, that plate of swords now facing him head on. He steeled himself. He had maybe ten seconds until that plate smashed him flatter than a pancake.

He raised the Sniper's rifle. It was light, weighing less than something with the power of Zeus's lightning should have. He brought his eye down to the sight. There was a series of circles and crosshairs, much like the patch on his friend's uniform. A colored circle appeared in the middle of all these patterns. He brought it to center over the Heavy's dome, the rifle charging with power. This had to wait as long as possible. There could be no second shot.

The Heavy never wavered from his course.

Neither did the Engineer.

**CRACK!**

It was like he shattered a jar of raspberry preserves. The Heavy wobbled down, the weight of his dead corpse throwing the sword van to the right. The Engineer tossed the Sniper's rifle behind him, accelerating to the left with what precious time he had remaining. The sword van hit the passenger's side, chipping off the front headlight and gouging out a chunk of metal before crashing into the ditch. It jarred the van along with it, but it didn't take it to the grave with it. There was a nasty crunch of metal, and then silence.

He'd done it.

The Engineer laid his head back, crossing his heart. He took several short breaths, his body shaking from residual adrenaline. He didn't stop for long. Mundy. He had to see him. The Engineer hobbled out of the driver's side, his stocky legs unsteady. He pushed a roll of nausea down his throat. The lock to the back side of the van was hot, but it gave way to his keys. He threw the doors apart.

The Sniper was crumpled towards the middle of the van, his body tossed about by the impacts. Dell jumped inside. He grabbed his friend's wrist, his left hand shaking. He couldn't get his own pulse to stop racing. He tried getting a reading from Mundy's neck, having the same steady thumping from his own body masking any sign of life. Placing the back of his hand against the Sniper's nose, he waited for a few moments, trying not to break down. He could feel warmth, the Sniper's skin radiating heat. There was also a soft breath on the back of his hands, little hairs moving from the force. Another victory.

Conagher scooped Mundy off the floor. He was a burden to carry, but not as much as a fully upgraded sentry. Long legs dangled over his right arm, hair wet from blood and water buried into the crook of his neck. He stepped out of the van, locking the back up as best as he could with his hands full. He took the Sniper to the front of the van, pulling the passenger side door open and buckling him up. After what they'd gone through that night, the Engineer thought he could afford the time to give the Sniper a little bit of security.

There was a green flash of light. The Engineer looked towards the eastern horizon. Was the sun coming up already? He glanced over towards the wreck, glowering with anger. There was a night of his life he couldn't get back. He unhooked his overalls, peeling the shirt of his doppelganger away from sweaty skin. After hooking them back up, he squashed the shirt in his hands and spat in it. He pitched it towards the wreckage, hoping the other team would get the point when they came to scrape this mess off the road. They should be so lucky that they could get their Russian and American troops back. At least they had died in the range of their generator. One mercy Dell would give them today.

The Engineer jumped into the driver's seat once more. He gave the old van a comforting pat, and then started it up. There was still a long way to go before both he and the Sniper were safe again.

* * *

><p>Dijkstra and Turing were hovering over his bed.<p>

Not to say that they were the actual scientists Edsger Dijkstra and Alan Turing. They were the doves named after the two. He had seventy-eight doves to name, and it just so happened that the two he'd named after a couple of computer scientists had come to wake him up. The Medic groaned, trying to shoo the two birds away. It was six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday. They could just leave him be.

Both birds were miffed at their master's rejection. One pecked at his nightcap, the other going after his pajama sleeve. The Medic brushed them away. He sighed. When his doves had their minds set, there was little he could do to stop them. All seventy-eight of them had learned that bad behavior from Archimedes. The flock leader, not the Greek scholar. Fine. Like he needed any more sleep, anyway.

The Medic stretched. He shed his clothes, putting his standard uniform on. It may be the weekend, but he still felt the need to dress in such a way. It was clean, crisp. It brought him respect. So, might as well use it. He'd finished combing his hair and taking care of a few hygienic chores when he saw a set of headlights flash outside of his window. He craned his head back to the frame, not believing what he was seeing. It was the Sniper's van, but it looked like it had been attacked by the world's largest can opener.

It got stranger when the Engineer stepped out of the driver's side door. The Medic lifted his window, leaning outside. "Herr Engineer! Vat are you doing up so early?"

The Texan jumped three inches off the ground in fright. Goodness, that was unusual. He looked up towards the Medic's room. "Doc! Come down here! I could use a hand!"

The last time he'd said that, the Medic had spent an hour amputating and installing a robotic hand on the Engineer. He sighed, shutting his window. He tromped down the stairs to the first floor lobby. Stepping out of the barracks, he jogged over to where the Engineer was fishing someone out of the driver's side door. The Texan approached the German with a limp, noodly Australian in tow. Both were damp, strange bruising lining their arms and necks. The Sniper had a nasty clump of blood on the left side of his head. Neither was dressed normally—the Engineer was missing his shirt, and the Sniper had on his uniform top and some kind of karate pants. Seeing something like this outside of their battles was disorienting.

"Ver on Earth have you been?" The Medic began checking the Engineer's neck, reading the bruises like tea leaves. "Are zese—"

"Doc, if I told ya about what I just went through, ya'd have me in a straight jacket," The Engineer wasn't willing to go too much into detail. He dropped the Sniper into the Medic's arms. "Late Christmas present."

The Medic shot him a dirty look. "I doubt I vould ask for something like zis." He readjusted the weight in his arms, trying to get more control over the Sniper's long body. He was heavier than he looked. "And you zink you are going ver?"

"I gotta put this old Sheila in the garage. Then I'll be right with ya." The Texan gave the camper two loving pats. "Unless you want breakfast. Then I'll be 'bout half an hour."

Oh. Breakfast. If there was something the Engineer could do right, it was breakfast. Bacon. Eggs. Waffles. Good God, those waffles. The thought made the Medic's stomach rumble. He tried to play the sound off as nothing. "Vell. Somebody should be paying me for zis. Vorking on Saturday. Pfft!"

The Engineer gave a tired sigh. "I got a full day ahead of me, too. This gal ain't going to patch herself up, much as I'd like her to."

"I zink ve have a deal." The good doctor turned back to the barracks. "Don't be late, mein hard-hatted friend, or I guarantee zat I can find a few inoculations zat you need! Viz big, sharp needles! And it vill be painful!"

"Doc, there ain't nothin' that can hurt me today. I'm feelin' like Superman." The Texan departed as well, giving the German a wave as he went to park the van. The Medic just sighed, proceeding towards the medical wing with his first patient. He brushed the Sniper's hair aside, getting a good look at the injury on his head. It wasn't pleasant, but a few stitches or a few minutes with the medi-gun would take care of it. He had so many choices.

The Medic sighed. "Von day, Herr Sniper, ve vill meet vizout you being unconscious first."

That day wasn't going to be today, but—well, what was that phrase the Spy used? C'est la vie.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>:

Hmm. Came in a little on the short side. Meh, that'll do. You got what you wanted, right? There were…um, vans, and …well, there weren't any trucks, so I can't say that there were trucks 'n vans…but I digress. Now, if I had the stones to put this on a certain Chan site, we might have had a bit of a different story. (I don't do tender scenes because there's something psychologically wrong with me!)

You bitches (and gentledudes, possibly), are luck that I didn't hear about Snyphurrs before I started this story. This would have gone further into the nightmare zone than even I am comfortable with! Good God, what the hell is that? As if the CBS wasn't bad enough!

And now, finally, perhaps I can get back to that Medic story that I wanted to do. Maybe. Oh, look! My Dead Island files just finished decrypting!

(Now is the time to log in—you know who you are—and finish your opinions off!)


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